New. College, broom, Look, ways, clothes. But in today's case, Forest. As is the way of the English there is of course, nothing new about it, being nearly 950 years old.
I am spending the weekend with my Dad, and took advantage of a beautiful morning today to cycle across the forest to my Mum's grave just outside Christchurch.
It was cold and crisp, and very sunny as I rolled down the slight gradient out of Alderholt. Then gently pushed it up the slight gradient of the next half mile. And that set the pattern, with the exception of a couple of short climbs it was an undulating day, through rolling moorland, forest and heath. All very picturesque and a reprise of some of the route of the ride I did back in August.
Talking at the graveside. Umm, what is that about? Yes I did it, had quite a monologue cum conversation, and no I'm not telling you what it was about. Afterwards I cycled across the corner of the forest before heading west across the Avon causeway. It's the slightly elevated road across the flood plain of the river, and flood was the operative word today, and heaving with swans.
Their legs going fourteen to the dozen no doubt.
After that it was more undulations and then a nice road into Dorset and a final sprint with the wind at my back. 50 miles, most of the new. Here is the route, and I am ever so slightly ashamed to say that I had a wry grin at the weather back home in Somerset. And glad when it clouded over here, for it goes to show, that sometimes, if you seize the moment, you get the best of it.